


rooftop crossroads

by cokuns



Category: Indigo Music, K-hiphop, Khiphop, Show Me the Money (Korea TV)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, M/M, first justhis fic on ao3 let's get it, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26357638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cokuns/pseuds/cokuns
Summary: “Thought you wanted to kiss me?” Seung says, his nose ring glinting in the dim light.Wonjae blinks once, twice.“Uh. Yeah?” He falters. A cold breeze flushes his fringe into his face and Wonjae’s teeth chatter. Seoul’s getting colder these days."So I'm going to kiss you.” Seung says matter-of-factly, syllables drawled out from the alcohol, like he's stating something strikingly obvious.
Relationships: Choi Wonjae | Kid Milli/Justhis | Hur Seung
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	rooftop crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> faced a lot of inertia writing this but was mainly motivated by the lack of justhis fics on ao3. yours truly is here to fix that issue. also the part about his favourite flavour of soju being grape was completely made up lmao 
> 
> kudos/comments/bookmarks are always appreciated.

There's music in the background, 16-bit Dynamic Duo with its visceral kicks and crackling snares, the kind that Wonjae used to pen lyrics to years ago. "Hyung," Wonjae begins, fixating his eyes on the cigarette ash littered right at the edge of the green rooftop, thinking of the cigarettes he chain-smoked the last time he hung out here. 

Wonjae remembers Seung shuffling towards him and cupping his jaw gently, so close that Wonjae’s brain fizzles out to a constant stream of static. Wonjae remembers the reflection of the wavering flame in Seung's eyes when he lights the cigarette wedged in between Wonjae's teeth and the way his teeth glint when Seung smiles at him. 

He takes a swig from a soju bottle he'd been nestling – grape-flavoured, Seung’s favourite, lets it burn an acrid trail down his gut, doesn't bother to chase it with beer. He probably needs the bravado from the alcohol. At least if he’s hungover enough he won’t find the energy to regret anything tomorrow.

"I think I like you." Wonjae says it more to the air than to Seung. He thought there’d be warning bells going off all over in his head. He just feels…...relieved. Like how he feels when the rhymes in his verses fall into place, after a good recording.

He looks below, across the street and sees girls huddling together, giggling obnoxiously as they hold each other by the waist and stumble from one bar to another. They disappear behind doors lit with neon signs and the streets are quiet again. 

“Okay,” Seung finally says, voice warm from all the drinks, as he turns to meet Wonjae’e eyes. His hair is a dirty blonde, the dark roots starting to peek out and the edges all frayed. Wonjae thinks bleaching his hair was the best choice Seung made. 

“That’s cool.” Seung says, lips curving up into a lazy smile as he takes another sip of Hennessy, grimacing as he tilts his head back. Wonjae watches his throat bob as he swallows, wants to kiss down his jaw, looks at the column of his neck, looks at the tiger inked there, wants to plant bruises from its head to its tail till it blooms in a jungle of red and purple blotches.

“I want to kiss you.” Wonjae blurts. That was not part of the plan. (Not that he had a plan anyway. He’d just blindly stumbled into this and hoped for the best.) And he _almost_ regrets it when Seung doesn’t respond, until he’s looking at Wonjae over the slope of his nose, smiling with a hint of teeth this time. 

“Same.” Seung responds and raises his head to the sky, shrugging nonchalantly. Seung looks good illuminated by the streetlights. Softer than he usually does. 

“What–” Wonjae manages, brain short-circuiting. Seung rolls his eyes and shuffles on his knees to hover above Wonjae, steadying himself with an arm on Wonjae’s shoulder. The touch seems heavier, more charged than it should.

“Thought you wanted to kiss me?” Seung says, his nose ring glinting in the dim light.

Wonjae blinks once, twice.

“Uh. Yeah?” He falters. A cold breeze flushes his fringe into his face and Wonjae’s teeth chatter. Seoul’s getting colder these days.

"So I'm going to kiss you.” Seung says matter-of-factly, syllables drawled out from the alcohol, like he's stating something strikingly obvious.

Wonjae really, _really_ , wants this. But he's also trying not to fuck it all up with Seung here. So he closes his eyes instead.

Wonjae feels a light press of lips to his, feels the grease from the vegetable tempura sticking to his lips, the kind of reused oil that the shitty diner across the road uses until it’s a sludge brown. He doesn’t care, not really. Because it’s Seung that’s kissing him, Christ, it’s _Seung_ , of all people.

The song ends with a whispered outro, the drums fading into nothing, leaving a bittersweet and slightly melancholic feeling in the hollow of Wonjae's chest. 

Seung pulls back. The next song comes on. It's some kind of fusion bubblegum pop-rock, with far too many bass riffs and chunky beats. The vocals come on, and it’s in _Japanese_. Of course it is. It’s one of Wonjae’s weeb songs that he sneaked into their playlist weeks back. (“Their”. Wonjae muses about what that means.) Seung purses his lips, but the telltale crinkle at the edges of his eyes gives him away. Wonjae thinks about how utterly _ridiculous_ this whole thing is, a giggle slipping from his lips.

“Fuck it,” Seung whispers, breath fanning against the bridge of Wonjae’s nose. Seung's gaze drops to his lips, and back to his eyes. And then it doesn’t matter whether it’s Dynamic Duo or an anime soundtrack playing on the phone hidden under the mess of food packaging, because Seung is curling fingertips into Wonjae's hair and kissing him, properly.

It’s awkward at first, the tip of their noses bumping as Seung presses clumsy kisses to Wonjae’s lips. Then their faces slot together near perfect and everything is just _right_. Seung tastes of Hennessy, beer and soju, soju, _soju_ , and Wonjae hopes Seung doesn't mind the bitter aftertaste Marlboro leaves behind.

And everything is wet and good, and _fuck_ , this is better than anything Wonjae could have imagined. Wonjae lets Seung kiss him hot and nice and slick and slow, kisses back with some kind of desperate fervour. Seung has his other hand framing his face, his thumb resting on the curve of Wonjae’s cheekbone. Wonjae lets Seung nip at his bottom lip, lets him lick into his mouth, presses closer until their legs are uncomfortably squashed together, and even then he wants more.

Seung pulls back, lips shiny and cheeks dusted pink. And Wonjae remembers the first time they'd performed together, Seung's hair slicked back all the way, the back of his shirt drenched in sweat, his eyes _alive_ and Wonjae had never wanted to crowd him against a wall and kiss him senseless more. 

He does too, now. Seung's got that stupid smirk plastered on his face. It's kind of infuriating but also kind of hot. Wonjae wants to kiss it off his face. So he does. Wonjae kisses Seung again until all he can feel is the faint buzzing of the alcohol at the tips of his fingers, until Seung swears dirty words – the kind that broadcasters would never allow – right down his throat, until Wonjae goes lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and presses his forehead to Seung’s.

“Hyung-” Wonjae needs to say something, needs to make sure this isn’t just a drunken fling that will go back to square one, needs to make sure that whatever this is isn't one-off, needs to know what Seung _thinks_ of him.

"Hyung, what do you think of me?" The words come bubbling out of his throat, voice strained and anxious. Seung stares at him incredulously, like he's just said something stupid, and doesn't make a move to untangle their legs. 

Seung brushes the fringe out of Wonjae's eyes, eyes soft and- is that _fondness_ , leaning to press a kiss to the tiny tattoo right above Wonjae's eyelid. Seung always said it was cute. That must mean something. Wonjae’s trying to think of _what_.

"You're really dense, you know." He murmurs, more of a statement than a question. He kisses Wonjae's temple and Wonjae goes still, waiting.

"I don't think you go around kissing people you don't like," Seung breathes, presses a kiss to Wonjae's burgundy hair, and another at the lobe of his ear, and another at his jaw, and another, and another, and another. 

Seung dips down to slide his lips wetly down Wonjae's throat, where the flowers are clustered. He smirks a little when Wonjae’s breath hitches and his hand shoots up to clutch at Seung’s hoodie. “I like you enough. Maybe too much.” Seung says, sucking a bruise right where all the ink is.

And if Seung’s hands stray a lot lower, well. Wonjae doesn’t really regret this any more.


End file.
